Yo-Yo's and Fevers

Last night, as Gene went pink for volleyball, I dragged the boys to Jacob's end of season, flag football ceremony. It began at 7 p.m., so I was fairly confident it would be short. I mean, organizers are well aware that kindergarten and first grades participate.

Things moved right along and we eagerly awaited the special guest. Enter Salina native, Brent Dellinger, yo-yo extraordinaire. His tricks were quite impressive, and I was amazed more than once at what this 21 year old could make a yo-yo do. At some point, I began to tire of the tricks, perhaps after the plug for a $17 yo-yo. Or perhaps as Jared grew increasingly impatient next to me. I clapped happily at the end and was still naive to think I might exit the church with some dignity.

My boys go to bed at 8 p.m., sometimes it is 8:05 p.m. It is never 8:41 p.m. As we prepare to leave, Jared launches into his killer fit routine. My purse is heavy as it contains my camera and various other junk, but still I manage to scoop up the fireball and attempt the long journey to the car.

He does not go quietly into the night. Threats do not work. Pressure on his behind does not work. He kicks, punches, contorts and screams. I consider my options as I encourage Jacob to pay attention to the various cars leaving the parking lot. I practically drop Jared on the sidewalk and remark that he can just stay here if he chooses. Cue the sorrowful crying. OK, now maybe he will allow me to carry him in a somewhat calm matter. Ha! The little con artist resumed his torrential fit the moment I scooped him back up.

Looking back, I realize an important truth. That 8 p.m. bedtime is as much for me as it is for them. Jared is DONE. I am rapidly getting there. He requires a quick spank before he will sit up properly in his car seat. He avenges this by screaming at the top of his lungs for the entire trip home. I am surprised the glass in the car windows survive his pitch.

I am tired. My head is pounding. I am losing any commitment I might have held previously to motherhood. Enter Gene (thank you Lady Blues for winning quick!). As Gene steps into the hot seat, I fold the laundry on our bed at a feverish pace as I try to regain a piece of sanity.

This morning, Jacob comes into our room a bit before 7 a.m; he's had a bad dream. As he slides next to me, I realize immediately, as most mothers do, that my baby has a fever. But, I make Gene get up and confirm it anyway. After all, it is my birthday.